Epic Adventure For Morons Only
by CeciACelosia
Summary: Death comes in many forms - from a bullet to the chest all the way down to drowning in your own vomit. Tulio and Miguel don't have a whole lot of luck, but if there's one thing they can avoid, it's death. Chel gone, Tulio planless and Miguel drinking away his feelings, four well-placed bullets will be the beginning of a deadly adventure... And sharks. I want sharks in this fic.


Some people prefer to start a scene with introductions, descriptions and general forgettable nonsense that you're probably going to skim anyway. God knows I do. But then again I have the attention span of a goldfish. Certainly the man lying face down in his own vomit could spend a thousand hours thinking up a million ways to describe his current surroundings, his feelings and his situation – hell, you might even read it if you have nothing better to do.

Or we could forget it all and settle for 'shit, shit and shit.' He certainly has.

So he may never be a poet – like he cares, he's currently choking on chunks of half-digested stolen vegetables. His head is spinning far too quickly, and he cannot work out how to twitch his left foot, never mind roll his whole body over and out the danger zone. Perhaps the 'drink all the booze you can get your hands on' game was not the best to play straight after the three bottles of liver-shrivelling poison they called the 'House Special' downstairs.

Blerg. Well, if he doesn't die in the pool of sick, then the hangover he'll surely suffer will finish the job come morning. Hopefully.

Alas, as the man feels a choking pull on the back of his shirt, he notes that death by vomit is off the list for tonight.

"Holy _hell_ Miguel, I only went to the damn bathroom!"

"Frug erff am good," the man, _Miguel_, slurs, batting uselessly at his own face in an effort to clean it. His clothes would probably need to be burned, never mind cleaned if the smell was anything to go by. It could permeate a bed in a brothel, and that's saying something. Tulio on the other hand, despite drinking just as much if not more than Miguel, looked no worse for wear than usual. In honesty, the only alcohol that ever seemed to affect the man was that _El Dorado_ place's own.

Miguel groaned deeply, throwing away the memory. The rest of his thoughts made zero sense as they meandered around his head varying in speeds and interest – he didn't particularly want to dwell on any of them.

"Jesus Miguel, you've drank wayyyyy too much. Bed, now – we got shit to do tomorrow and you're not gunna be much help with sinuses full of chunks and the temper of a bull."

Miguel had no response that wasn't more drawled profanities or just phlegm in general. Upright and on his feet, he took one wobbly step forwards before plummeting towards the floor. A swift arm tucked itself around his stomach and hauled him back to his feet, which did not help his sudden vertigo one iota thank-you-very-much, before the same arm curled around his waist and lead him towards what was presumably his bed.

_'Or Tulio's. That'd be acceptable too,'_ a drunken thought cropped up. In the morning, if he could remember that moment, he'd thank every single worshipped God and Goddess out there that he didn't say that aloud. Though he was close. Very, very close.

Miguel curled a little into his new human support. _Tulio_. He always smelt of old cigarettes and thankfully non-offensive sweat. Was that possible? To Miguel _everyone's_ sweat was offensive. He meant, it's _sweat_. Hardly wonderful. Except Tulios. Tulio's was... alright.

Just as Miguel's eyelids began to droop, his head lulling against Tulio's neck with the dark-haired man's scent think in his nose (way more preferable than whatever mystery chunk was slipping down his throat right then) he was unceremoniously dropped onto the cheap bed of hay and old cushions. Immediately Miguel shivered – no blankets in this room – and acknowledged that lying down made the room spin faster than ever... But it didn't change the fact that he was out within two minutes.

On the other side of the room, Tulio fell onto his own pile of 'luxary' hay and let his eyes fall down on his partner-in-crime. The moron was out like a light. The room itself was a mess, something Tulio accepted would happen the moment Miguel announced he wanted to continue drinking after visiting the bar downstairs. A cheap travellers inn – the room certainly wasn't spectacular in the first place, but hell would be raised if the cleaner (also known as the homeowner, and the cook, and the farmer's wife – the place wasn't huge after all) saw the state the room was in now.

Tulio blew out the tacky candelabra about his bed, and lay down. The night air was warm if not stained with the stench of cheap alcohol. The third night after the whole El Dorado fiasco. Chel, not entirely surprisingly, had simply kissed Tulio on the cheek the first night, the words 'you have your reasons, and I have mine,' the last on her tongue before initiating a brisker goodbye than Tulio dared to recall. Best to bury those thoughts – both he and Chel knew what 'that' was before it had even started. They both got what they wanted. Time to move on.

Miguel, strangely enough, didn't dwell on the fact he was pretty much forced to leave the city he had come to love. He left all his desires of becoming a God back with the place the moment he jumped onto that boat, and not once had he looked back... Mind, the amount of drinking he had been doing since the moment they entered the hostel was probably a good help to that. Tulio sighed, brushing his hair back from his forehead as he looked up into the darkness of the room. They were back where they started – poor as dirt. So it only raised one question, in this 'new world' where thankfully everyone seemed to speak his language;

_What do we do now?_

o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o

No time for a slow drowsy wake-up to greetings of a throttling headache – instead Miguel was given the honour of being struck with ice-cold water.

"Oh my _fuck_!"

"Morning sunshine!" Tulio beamed with a wink, chucking the now empty bucket behind him. Miguel lurched to his feet, shocked and cold and angry and confused. The morning sunlight dripped through the square window, flies buzzing around the pile of - _please don't be mine_ – vomit flecked around the floor in varying sized puddles.

"What... happened last night?" Miguel frowned, his anger quickly melting as confusion decided to take over.

"You drank. You puked. You fell over a lot. No biggie."

"Right. And the water was for...?"

"Leaving. We're going by the way. Now, preferably."

Miguel frowned, scratching the back of his head. Surely enough, his headache was there – but nowhere near as bad as anticipated. Thank his stars for minor blessings and all that.

"Why?" he finally asked. Tulio pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

"Because you drank."

"...Yes? And?"

"Okay, let me fix that – because you drank all _of our money away_."

"...Ah."

"Indeed. We spent the last bit of money on your last binge in the other village. Unfortunately," Tulio continued, lowering his voice, "that means we have nothing to pay our lovely hostess. Which by default means we've nothing to pay the wife of the big angry farmer."

Miguel paled. "Oh dear Lord - he looks like skin stretched over large brick of lead and hatred."

Tulio nodded. "Unless you want to become a big blonde pancake, we're going to have to run. Y'know, _quickly_."

"Well great."

Pulling on his waistcoat as Miguel decided against ditching his spew-covered red shirt just yet, Tulio made for the door. Quickly pulling it open, readying himself for a hurried dash down the stairs and out the door, he walked face-first into a wall of well-toned meat.

"O... _Oh_, well hello my fine fellow," Miguel grinned nervously, as Tulio picked himself from the floor. The man remained unmoved, two small narrowed eyes boring down onto the two men from his tall height. He was a young, handsome fellow if you could look past all the anger, though his size was more intimidating that any men dare mention and his fist had brought many a brawl to an abrupt end. 

"Hello, gentlemen," the man began, his tone deep and accent almost unintelligible as he drawled out his vowels into one another and took no real gap between each word. "M'dear Mary just wants t'ask – exactly _when_ will you be paying? Just, strangely enough, we haven't seen a penny since you arrived 'nd God knows she's been... _hospitable_. And so," the man growled, a harsh no-shit grimace on his thin lips as he bent right down to Miguel's level. "Just when will you be paying?"

"Ah – Well right now my good man!" Tulio butted in before Miguel could open his mouth. Stepping up to the larger man, Tulio offered one of his sleaziest 'I Know What I'm Doing' smiles to Miguel, before offering a less extreme version of the smile to the farmer before him.

"Yes... _Yes_!" Miguel joined in, forced confidence on his tongue. "Indeed, that is the truth! We just, um..."

"Left the money! On our, um, _horse_!" Tulio concluded, cutting in for Miguel. '_Genius!_' Miguel thought. 'Now we just need the big lug to believe us and get to Altivo...'

"Do y'think," the farmer started, voice low and dangerous as he leaned in to Miguel and Tulio way more than was comfortable, "that I was born y'sterday?"

"N... No!" Miguel laughed nervously. "Of course not! You're far too... smart! We just... well.. We left it there! Our horse guards our money! It's a... _guard horse_!"

Tulio slapped his own forehead. The farmer thankfully did not notice, eyes set only on Miguel.

"Well... In that case, your friend better go get the money," the man smiled. Miguel let out a relieved sigh, making to walk past the farmer, before a large mitt landed down hard on his shoulder.

"Wait right there little man," the farmer chuckled darkly. "I said your friend. You, on the other hand, will stay right here by my side. Now, let's go outside."

On the way out of the hostel, Tulio leading the way to the horse, Miguel could only be aware of the large meaty hand on his shoulder. Miguel was stocky, but against this guy he would be no better that a mayfly. The only thing Altivo held was an old pair of Tulio's socks in an old threadbare satchel, and somehow Miguel doubted that it would be legitimate currency in this New World business.

The only thing Miguel could rely on for the moment was Tulio's confident stride in front of him – Tulio was the guy who came up with plans, Miguel was the one who improvised along the way.

Miguel stifled a groan as they walked up to the stables outside. Three horses were in a line, though it was far too obvious as to which one was Altivo. Not many horses can sit with their legs crossed.

Miguel felt his heart stutter as Tulio's confident step faltered – but it didn't last long. Flashing a way too cheesy smile at the farmer, Tulio sauntered up to Altivo. For a moment, Miguel had a terrifying vision of his partner just leaping on the horse and hoofing it as fast as he could away from it all, and for another terrifying moment it seemed it was all coming true as Tulio made to jump onto the horse. The hand on Miguel's shoulder tightened into a vice-like grip, crushing the skin tight enough to bruise, as he tightly asked what Tulio thought he was doing. Tulio, on the other hand, only exuded faultless confidence as he beamed a smile atop of Altivo.

_The bastard is going to leave me!_

"Never fear! That money must be up here somewhere..."

The farmer made to step forward, Miguel in tow, when Altivo quite literally jumped over both the farmer and Miguel. The farmer let go of Miguel's arm, running for cover, and just as Miguel swerved around to scream after Tulio, a hand shot out to greet him, scuffing him by the shirt and dragging him up high.

Tulio, now sitting in front of him atop of Altivo, screamed a command for the horse to run as the farmer grabbed his bearings and made out of the small (absolutely tiny) village. Conveniently surrounded by trees, the trio quickly disappeared into the environment. The bulky farmer did not have speed on his side, and was quickly left behind – Altivo kept running beyond the trees non-the-less.

Grabbing onto Tulio for support, Miguel hissed into his partner's ear. "That was far too bloody close for comfort!"

The horse continued to gallop, dodging trees and leaping over logs. Just what in the hell was the beast being fed for heaven's sake? He seemed to be enjoying himself that was for sure.

Tulio, hands clutched hard onto Altico's mane, shrugged. "Got us out of it didn't I?" he laughed, as if it was nothing.

"He could have killed me!"

"But he didn't"

"You bastard! I was..."

"All scared in case big strong Tulio couldn't save poor little Migueleena?" Tulio smirked.

"Ha bloody _GUH_."

"... Guh?" Tulio frowned, craning his neck around as Altivo continued to speed forward.

Poor little 'Migueleena' was no longer there.

o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o

Miguel was unbelievably lucky to fall down onto a larger than realistically necessary pile of leaves. He was not, however, lucky to receive a branch to the face whilst on top of Altivo beforehand. Or the short fall down the ditch after. Back to the leaves he was currently laying in though – _lucky_.

It took a moment or two for Miguel to haul himself to his feet – his headache was reaching new levels no thanks to the branch. A harsh stinging pain crossed both his left cheek and the flesh of his nose. Reaching up, he felt his fingers brush against what must be a large cut travelling horizontally across his face. Flinching, his fingers came back quickly and stained in fresh blood. Great.

Groaning and slightly dizzy, Miguel lurched his way forward. Stupid horse. Stupid Tulio. Licking his lips to rid them of the dripping blood, Miguel peered around carefully, squinting as if it was hard to focus, keeping an eye for Altivo. No doubt they'd notice he had fallen by now – he shouldn't be too hard to find. He had fallen a distance, yes, but surely if he stayed where he was, they wouldn't be able to miss him. It was early in the morning, there was plenty of light. It was a matter of staying where he was.

Finally sick of his foul-smelling shirt, Miguel peeled it off and used his teeth to tear off a small clean-ish bit of the weak material. Dabbing at the wound, the pain that jolted through his body made the environment sway before his very eyes. _Unpleasant_.

The blood continued to trickle from the cut even after the material was lifted, and after a little while (or a long while? He was unsure at that point) the queasiness and discomfort was catching up with him. His mouth felt like he had been sucking a rusty metal tap for the last hour.

"D.. dammit Tuli... O. Hurry the hell... up," he managed, talking past the dizziness. Miguel had no particular dislike of blood, but he did rather it was _inside_ his body.

He had no hope of climbing the small ditch he had fallen down, so instead he decided to walk in the opposite direction. Why? Because Tulio would find him. Definitely. Miguel needed to walk. Get his head straight. Head. Straight. Walking. Walking is a funny word... Continue... Tulio... Where's Tulio? Keep walking. Come on...

_Come on!_

o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o

"I'm sure he landed somewhere around here Altivo... _Where the hell did that idiot go?!_"

o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o-oo-o

"Come on girl, we're going to catch some nasty ones today – I can feel it in my _bones_!"

One tall well-built blonde man, looking in his early-twenties, hair cut close to the skin and a deep even tan, walked alongside a large black Labrador. The man was dressed rather plainly – Dungarees with only one fastener attached. There was no left fastener at all leaving the material to hang over his chest. A short-sleeved grey shirt covered any exposed flesh the broken material might have revealed. The only thing of worth on his person seemed to be a cross around his neck, tied in place with old tatty but thick wool. The cross itself, silver with gold flecks, glistened in the sunlight blinking through the trees as the man walked. The craftsmanship of the item looked almost inhuman – no amateur craftsman could come anywhere near the piece around this man's neck. None ever would, as a matter of fact, either.

The man held a make-shift fishing rod over his shoulder, made from what looked like sticks, mud and rope. It didn't seem able to catch a leaf, never mind a full fish.

"Sun's blaring down strong that's for sure," the man grinned, reaching down to rub his dog's head. Just as his fingers were about to touch the dog's fur, the canine bolted off with a deep bark.

"Oi! Suzie! ... Oh for crying out loud. _Suzie_!"

Dropping his 'fishing rod' (it broke the moment it touched the ground) the man bolted after his pet. He kept up a good speed, but compared to his Suzie it was nothing. Thankfully, before she shot off too far to be seen, she skidded to a halt.

"S... Suzie!" the man panted, finally catching up. His breath came out strong as he tried to call his dog back to follow him. Instead, it was sniffing at a small bit of blood on the floor. The man frowned, and Suzie then proceeded to lick bloodied fingers on the ground.

Which were attached to a hand. Attacked to an arm.

Attached to a body

The man would later refuse to admit he screamed. Because he totally didn't.__


End file.
